Change of Heart
by Bm89
Summary: Tuckson. Oneshot. Melancholy fluff. That's about all I can say to describe it here (I suck at summaries AND titles). Contains a few f-bombs and some sexytimes, so M to be safe. Enjoy!
**A/N: I wish I could tell you where this came from. I initially had it going in a completely different direction, but this is what came out. [I'm choosing to blame the rollercoaster of emotions this weekend/today was in the fandom on Twitter.] So… characters aren't mine, I only own the mistakes. Recognizable dialogue is underlined and is not mine.**

##

"Who at the NYPD do you trust?" Joe asks.

"My squad. My detectives," she replies.

"No," he clarifies. "Someone with more pull. Someone who cares about you." He pauses, "Is there anyone at the NYPD who cares if you live or die?"

##

It was a hole-in-the-wall, the bar he'd asked her to meet him at. Worn wood, scuffed floors, Tiffany chandeliers caked in grime so thick that barely any light leaked through the colored glass.

She wasn't even sure why she was here. The last couple of times they'd gotten a drink together, it had been under the guise of something professional. Namely Amaro.

But this time, his request that they meet for drinks was completely unexpected.

She stepped into the bar and paused for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dramatic change in lighting from the late-afternoon sun to the dingy interior. Scanning the room, she found him seated in a booth near the back. He was facing her, but his eyes were fixated on one of the TVs mounted on the wall.

Sliding into the booth across from him, he turned his attention to her, one corner of his lips lifting into what she had determined was his signature smirk. "I wasn't sure if you were gonna show."

She shrugged, "You asked. Who am I to turn down a free drink?" She gestured to the glass of bourbon in front of her. "What's this?" The memory of their first outing, prior to Nicholas Amaro, Sr.'s trial, played in her head.

 _I think you should try the bourbon._

"It is my personal mission to convert you, Benson." The look on his face was smug, his tone challenging as he leaned toward her.

All she could do was smirk as she lifted the glass and took a sip, trying not to let him see how much she enjoyed the burn as the liquid lit a fire down her throat.

They nursed their drinks and ordered another round. They talked, and she was amazed when neither of them brought up the job. It was sports and current events and funny anecdotes, and not once did perps or vics or witnesses enter the fold of their conversation.

His stare was intense and she let her eyes wander a bit so she didn't have to look directly at him. He was stifling. The rasp of his voice lent itself perfectly to the flirtation he was exuding, and though it was not the first time she'd seen this side of him, it may as well have been.

…

She had to get home to Noah, relieve Lucy. There'd been so much going on and she'd been asking so much of her sitter lately; the poor girl needed a reprieve from the hectic craziness.

"I should get going." He nodded his understanding, pulling a couple of bills from his wallet, tossing them to the table and standing with her.

She walked ahead of him out of the bar, and she could feel his hand on the small of her back the whole way. "Did you drive?"

She nodded, "Car's around the corner."

He gestured for her to lead the way. "I'll walk you."

Their arms brushed up against each other as they walked, and she shot a sidelong glance in his direction. "What is this, Tucker?"

He looked at her innocently. "Not sure I know what you mean." When he saw the disbelief etched on her face, he continued, "What, I can't be chivalrous?"

Her lips lifted in a half-smile while she pretended to consider his answer. "No," she replied, shaking her head. "I don't think so."

They reached her car and she approached the driver door, turning to face him. He conceded, "I like spending time with you, Sergeant."

Her eyebrows lifted, registering her surprise at his candor. This was new. "Oh?"

He nodded, and his mannerisms were almost sheepish. She was not used to seeing Tucker shy. His eyes scanned her face before locking with hers. "I find you very interesting, Olivia."

 _Olivia._ He never called her that.

"I'm interesting now? How long have we known each other?" She chuckled in disbelief and looked away briefly. When she looked back, he was closer to her than before. "What's gotten into you lately?" He didn't answer, and she went for another question and even she didn't know what kind of response she was hoping for. "Tucker, was this supposed to be a date?"

He challenged her. "Do you _want_ it to be a date?"

She rolled her eyes. _Figures_. When had he ever been direct? But now he'd put the ball in her court, and she didn't like it because she didn't know how to answer. What _did_ she want?

Tucker had been a thorn in her side from day one – until recently. She didn't know what to make of the change she'd seen, the different way he treated her, talked to her.

He sensed her indecision, and the next move he made was bold, even for him. He inched toward her, perilously slow, and her eyes widened at the realization of what was going to happen. She could spot it from a mile away, and yet, she didn't stop him, didn't move away.

When she felt his breath on her lips, her eyes fluttered closed. A beat went by, and then his mouth made contact with hers. She was surprised at the softness of his lips, and once she got over the shock of the fact that Ed Tucker was kissing her, her right hand grasped his left forearm to steady herself. He moved even closer to her. It was tentative to start, but like he had been pushing the envelope with her, he did the same with his kiss.

She felt his tongue swipe across her bottom lip and it was more a reflex than conscious thought that caused her mouth to open under his, because she was pretty sure her brain had just short-circuited. His tongue massaged hers before retracting and she chased him, her other hand flying up to the back of his neck to keep him from pulling away. He moaned in surprise, and when he felt her tongue enter his mouth, he closed the last remaining distance between them and fell forward, his body pushing her against the side of her car. The hand that was on his forearm moved and both her arms wrapped around his neck, keeping him close to her.

Their lips slid together, breaking apart only marginally so they could breathe before fusing again and she groaned at the almost rough way his mouth was devouring hers. She pulled her lips from his. "Jesus, Tucker." Breath ragged, she wiped the corners of her lips with one hand. "What the hell was that?"

He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. It was an intimate gesture, perhaps too intimate for the moment, but he'd been fighting it for long enough now and he couldn't help himself. She seemed taken aback by it, searching his eyes. "I don't know." But he knew what he wanted it to be. "I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again."

There was that smirk again.

She let out a breathy laugh; her hand slid down to his chest and gently pushed him away, silently shutting him down for the moment. "I really have to get going." She smiled shyly, "This has been… interesting."

He leaned in again and she automatically tensed. She was still processing the first kiss; she wasn't ready for another yet, especially not one where he tried to swallow her whole. Although, she recalled with a blush, she hadn't exactly been a passive participant. "Relax, Benson." He angled his head and his lips landed on her cheek in a friendly peck, and she sighed. "Drive safe."

She opened the door and moved to get into the driver seat, and he smirked at her as he began to walk backwards, heading in the opposite direction. Just before her car door shut, he shouted, "Let's do this again sometime." He shot her a wink, and turned his back on her dumbfounded expression.

Before she even turned the key in the ignition, she paused, hands on the steering wheel and ran over everything that just happened in her head. The feel of his lips on hers, the taste of his mouth, the weight of his body pressed against hers.

She felt the low hum of arousal coursing through her and hunched over, resting her head against the steering wheel.

"Fuck."

…

The second time they got together outside of the pretext of work, it had been Olivia who reached out to him.

The bar she chose had been uncharacteristically crowded for a Tuesday night, and they ended up shoulder-to-shoulder at the bar, unable to find a table. They made conversation huddled together, both hiding shivers when one had to speak directly into the other's ear to be heard.

After the first drink, he invited her back to his apartment for another round.

"It'll be quieter," he proposed. "We can talk."

She had her suspicions about the 'talking' and illustrated as much in her facial expression, but agreed anyway. The next thing she knew, she was ambling around his living room, a tumbler of bourbon in-hand, stopping every once in awhile to more closely peruse a picture or a collectible on his wall or shelf, asking him a question about it or how he acquired it.

His apartment was exactly like she thought it would be. It was worn, almost rustic, especially in the color palette. As much as places could be "mature", Tucker's apartment was.

It was comfortable.

He sat on the couch, one arm draped across the back of the broken-in brown leather, making idle conversation while she completed her inspection. He knew it was a stall tactic, but didn't call her out on it. He let her have whatever time she needed.

Finally, she joined him. Close, but not too close. Facing him, but also turned away.

They sipped their bourbon, and she declined another round when he offered. Two was a safe limit for her with the hard stuff. She didn't want to be drunk tonight.

Conversation and flirtation blended together. She didn't know whether it was the softness in his eyes when he looked at her, or the way he twirled her hair around his fingers that night, but before she knew what was happening, her lips were on his. He kissed her back, his tongue invading her mouth, hands grabbing at whatever they could comfortably reach while she maneuvered so she was flat on the couch with him hovering over her.

She tore her lips from his, struggling for breath, and let out a deep moan when his mouth latched to her neck, biting at the skin. "Oh, God."

Her hands found their way under his shirt, after yanking it from his pants, and she scratched her fingertips down his chest, prompting him to rock his hips into hers. He muttered against her, "Christ, Benson."

It was tangled limbs and muffled cries and heavy breaths, and then she was lying beneath him in her bra, shirt having been tossed, along with his, god knows where in his living room. Her pants were undone and his hand disappeared beneath the soft material of her panties, stroking her. "Jesus fucking Christ," she seethed, rocking her hips into his fingers.

He let out a breathy laugh, which turned into a frustrated groan when, from her purse on the table by the door, her phone chirped. As suddenly as it had begun, all movement ceased. She felt her whole body deflate with disappointment.

He retracted his hand from her core, and she gently pushed him off of her, refastening her pants with a little hop on her way to her phone. He got up and grabbed her shirt from the floor, righting it from inside out and walking over to her.

She was still panting. "I, uh," she took a deep breath, scratching at her forehead in frustration. "Fuck. I can't believe this, but I have to go."

"That was to be expected," he assured her with a small smile, enjoying seeing her frazzled with restrained arousal.

He helped her back into her shirt and took a step back, one hand on either of her biceps. "Thanks," she whispered.

He didn't respond; instead, he moved one hand from her arm to her jaw, pulling her lips to his. This kiss was soft, familiar, and she hummed as he pulled away.

"Be careful, Sergeant."

"I will," she promised, grabbing her purse. And he closed the door.

She stood still in the hallway for a moment and blew out a breath, shaking her head.

"Fuck."

….

The third time was after Noah's adoption finalization party.

This time, neither of them knew they were going to see each other that day until she went to answer a knock at the door and there he was, standing in the hallway holding a bouquet of flowers. An eyebrow arched as she looked from the bouquet to his face. "Tucker," she greeted him. "What brings you by?"

He held the bouquet to her, which she took with a smile. "Wanted to wish you congratulations on the kid." He was charming in his own brusque little way.

"Thank you," she waved him inside, heading for the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase. He shut her door behind him and walked slowly into the apartment. "Can I get you a drink? I was just getting ready to pour a glass of wine."

Their eyes met and they both smiled at the silent challenge: _it's no bourbon, but.._. "Sure, wine sounds good."

She handed him the glass on her way to the couch and she watched him give her apartment the same silent inspection that she'd given his, smiling to herself. He looked at the pictures. They were mostly just of her and Noah, but the occasional shots of the squad – past and present – adorned the shelves amongst her various books and trinkets.

"How was the party?"

She nodded as she answered, swallowing a sip of her wine. "It was great!" She leaned her head back against the cushion of the couch. "Exhausting," she laughed. "I just put Noah down for a nap a little while ago."

Ed sat down next to her. "He's a lucky kid."

Her head ducked down at the compliment and she murmured a small 'thanks' in response. They let the silence reign for a moment, and his fingers found themselves in her hair again.

"You seem sad."

"Not sad," she shakes her head. "I just, uh… I found out that Nick isn't coming back today." Ed looked at her expectantly, "Both of his kids are in California now, so he's just gonna take his 75% and start over." She sighed, explaining, "Bum knee and no hope of moving up ranks…"

Tucker nodded his understanding, his face sympathetic. "I'm sure you're gonna miss him." He paused, "But, y'know, maybe it's for the best."

"Yeah, that's what I've been trying to tell myself." She gestures at her face. "Hence the sad."

He raised his eyebrow smiling smugly, "Thought you weren't sad?"

She laughed, "Shut up, Tucker. You know what I meant." She went to smack him, but he caught her hand before it made contact with him, and he intertwined their fingers, pulling on her to get her closer. His lips pressed against hers, and she untangled their fingers so she could place her hand against his cheek, keeping him close to her.

When she felt his lips part, she slid her tongue into his mouth in search of his, and they kissed languidly. It wasn't the near-frenzied encounter that they'd had at his apartment; it didn't have to lead to anything.

They pulled apart when Noah's waking whimpers came through the monitor, and she took a breath. "I should get him."

He nodded, "I'll be here."

He could hear her talking to Noah in her baby voice a moment later, and turned to see her entering the room with the boy on her hip. "Can you say hi to Ed, baby?" She looked up at Tucker and grabbed one of her son's pudgy hands, lifting it up and down in a mimed wave.

Ed got up to greet Noah, rubbing the back of his index finger across his cheek, marveling at the softness. "Hey, kiddo." He could feel her stare; her eyes rapt watching him interact with her son. "You hungry?"

She shrugged, "I could eat."

"Chinese?"

"Sure," she replied, placing Noah in his pack-and-play.

"Where are the takeout menus?"

"First drawer on the left, under the phone."

As he dialed the Chinese restaurant in her neighborhood, she sat on a stool opposite him, watching as he ordered her favorite, Szechuan Chicken, with a wink.

"20 minutes," he said, hanging up.

"Do I want to know how you know what I like?" she teased.

He gave her a half-smile. "Lucky guess."

…

That night they slept together for the first time.

It hadn't been her intention, explicitly, but it was getting late and he hadn't wanted to go as much as she didn't want to let him leave. Innocent kisses morphed into not-so-innocent kisses, and they wound up in a similar predicament as the night she'd gotten called away. Only this time there weren't any interruptions, and it felt too damn good to stop, so they moved into her bedroom instead.

Afterward, when they lay side by side trying to catch their breath, she whispered, "I need this to be real, Ed."

He turned on his side, propped up on an elbow to face her. "What makes you think it isn't?"

"I don't _know_ what it is," she replied. "But I can't do the casual thing. Not now. Not with Noah to think about." She sighed, "Maybe we should've talked about this before," she gestured at their current state, "we did this."

"Hey, look at me." He reached over and turned her face toward his. "This is real. I wouldn't jerk you around – or the kid – if I wasn't serious."

She studied his face as if she was trying to decide whether or not to believe him, her eyes darting between his. He held her stare, unflinching under her scrutiny. He repeated, "This is real, Olivia."

She gave him a small smile, covering the hand that was on her cheek with hers before turning and kissing his palm. "How did we even get here?"

He laughed, "Fuck if I know, but I'm not complaining."

She chuckled and adjusted herself so that her head was resting against his chest, tracing imaginary lines along his stomach. "You'll have to stay here more than I can stay at your place."

Even though she couldn't see him, he smiled, knowing what she was doing. "I know. Your place is better than mine anyway."

"And we can't get loud."

"Seems to me you'll be the one having the bigger problem with that." This earned him a swat to the stomach.

"He will always come first for me." She turned her head to look at him. Of all the declarations she tossed at him, this was the one she meant the most.

He ran his index finger down her nose. "I wouldn't expect anything different," he whispered.

Satisfied, she threw a leg over his hips and moved herself so that she was straddling him, her hands holding her up from where they rested against the bed just above his shoulders. She dropped her face down and kissed him, moaning when his hands slid up her sides, cupping her breasts. "One more thing."

She rolled her hips over his repeatedly, and the grunt he made sounded more like restraint than a call for her to continue, but she did anyway. "We keep this between us, for now."

Her hand wrapped around his length, and she positioned herself over it. "Fine with me," he breathed.

When he was finally buried inside her, she stilled. "Not because I'm ashamed." His hands moved from her breasts to her hips and he forced her into movement.

"I know," he moaned.

He saw her open her mouth to speak again, and he brought a hand behind her neck, pulling her lips down to his and kissing her into silence.

He mumbled against her mouth, "Stop talking."

…

She hadn't anticipated how easy it would be to transition from whatever they were before to whatever they became after. They didn't even have to try.

He didn't have the same angst-filled past that she had, few people did. But she found that they had similarly tortured souls, perhaps the doing of the thing that bound them before their feelings did: the NYPD.

They went on dates, did Saturdays in the park with Noah when the weather was nice, fell into each other's arms when cases got rough and words and showers didn't meet the burden of washing away the darkness, the negativity.

They took things slow; neither having been in what anyone would consider a "successful" relationship before. They were both guilty of being married to the job before circumstances demanded the need for balance. They fell into a routine.

They were falling in love.

##

And so, when Joe Utley – gun in hand – asks who cares about her, who in the NYPD cares whether she lives or dies, she looks away briefly.

In that pause, a split second, every moment of the last year with him plays like a highlight reel behind her eyes.

Ed. He cares. He will get her out of this.

When Utley is dead, the last remnants of his life spilling out onto the sidewalk via the hole in his head, she feels a hand around her waist, other hands grasping her arms, but she's numb to everything around her. It takes a minute for her to register who they belong to, who is pulling her away from this Godforsaken moment; who is saving her.

They tell her she's safe, that she's okay, but she's not worried about herself.

She asks about Noah; she has to know where he is. She has to be with him, hold him, to reassure herself that he's okay, that she made it out of this alive.

And then the skin of her hip tingles with familiarity beneath the thin blouse she wears and she hears his voice, "Just take care of yourself first."

She stops. When she says his name, it comes out breathy, laden with emotion. There is so much lying within those two syllables, everything she's said and hasn't said. "Tucker," she meets his eyes. "Thank you."

"For what? You did a great job in there, Lieutenant. Let's get you out of here."

Her first priority after the paramedics check her out is getting to Noah. She holds him to her, burying her face into his hair, breathing in his scent.

When she joins Ed in the living room later that night after putting Noah to bed, he gives her a tentative smile as she approaches the couch. "Hey."

She can hear the trepidation in his voice, and gives him a weary smile. "I'm _fine_ , Ed."

As she sits next to him, throwing her legs across his lap. His fingertip gingerly traces the bruise on her left eye, the cut on her right cheek. "You're always _fine_."

Her lip trembles in an effort to reign in her emotions. How she can still have tears to cry after the ordeal she's been through today is beyond her. Ed pulls her into his arms and she takes a shaky breath.

"But the thing is, Liv… You don't have to be. Not now. Not with me," he speaks into her hair, his hand rubbing circles on her back.

Tomorrow, she'll have to give her statement about this whole ordeal. She'll have to relive every detail again, like she's done a thousand times since she was pulled away from Utley's body. But for now, she allows herself to be held. She allows herself to need someone. She allows herself to cry.

She's not fine. But thanks to him, she thinks will be.

##

 **Thanks for reading! Churning out another 'You and I' update closer to the weekend.**


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